


A Story of Tonight; or, Hamilton's Revenge

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Aaron Burr - Freeform, Alexander Hamilton - Freeform, Alternate Universe, America, Britain, Death, George Washington - Freeform, Gore, Great Britain, Hamilton - Freeform, Hercules Mulligan - Freeform, John Laurens - Freeform, Marquis de Lafayette - Freeform, Musical, Musicals, Revenge, Revolution, Revolutionary War, colonial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6695881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton must seek out vengeance against the men who murdered his only true friends. Will he live to see their glory?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story of Tonight; or, Hamilton's Revenge

New York City, 1776. 

Soon to be Revolutionary war heroes Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Marquis de Lafayette, Hercules Mulligan, and future Vice President Aaron Burr meet in a tavern. Burr, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan, being good friends, engage in a bit of friendly banter. 

“I’m John Laurens in the place to be, two pints of Sam Adams but I’m working on three!” proclaims Laurens. On the opposite side of the tavern, unbeknownst to the group, a small patrol consisting of six British officers enters. “Those Redcoats don’t want it with me ‘cause I will pop chicka-pop these cops till I’m free!” The men burst into laughter and cheers. Luckily for them, the officers are too busy with their beverages to notice—at least, for now. 

The Frenchman, Marquis de Lafayette, comes to the center of the circle. “Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette!” Mulligan makes a beat with his now mug. “The Lancelot of the Revolutionary set!” self-declares Lafayette. This perks up the attention of the British Officers. “I came from afar just to say bonsoir, tell the king casse toi! Who’s the best? C’est moi.” Lafayette and Mulligan give him thunderous applause. Laurens gives a gay laugh. A wide smile spreads across Burr’s face. Hamilton, still somewhat new to the group, smiles respectfully. The British officers take another sip from their drinks, listening to the conversation feverishly.   
“Brrrah, brraaah, I am Hercules Mulligan, up in it, lovin’ it, yes I heard your mother say come again!” This verse provokes great response from the friends. “Lock up your daughters and horses, of course it’s hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets!” 

“Wow,” is all Lafayette can get out. 

Laurens interjects while grabbing the empty mugs from the men. “No more sex for me, another brew, son!” he proclaims. The bartender brings the group some fresh beers. “Let’s raise a couple more to the revolution!” The three men practically yell that last part in unison. The British officers place their hands firmly on their flintlock pistols. Laurens then turns to Burr and says in a very friendly tone, “Well if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton College!” Burr nods modestly, his lip sealed firmly shut, albeit in a smile. “Aaron Burr!” says Mulligan. The two had not formally greeted one another since entering the bar. Seeing as he has yet to engage in the playfulness, Laurens proposes, “Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!” 

Burr chuckles and moves to the center of the circle. “Good luck with that, you’re taking a stand. You spit, I’m-a sit, we’ll see where we land!” It’s clear to the Revolutionaries that Burr has no intent in joining them on their quest for liberation. “Burr, the Revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?” asks Laurens. Hamilton perks up from the back. “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?” 

The four men turn and stare at Hamilton. Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette turn to Burr, practically in unison, and ask, though not quite in unison, “Who the hell is this kid?” Burr blushes, embarrassed at his meeting with this no-name orphan from… Scotland? “Well, err, you see…” he begins. But before Burr can finish, Hamilton rises up and cuts him off.   
“I am not throwing away my shot,” Hamilton begins, “I am a bastard orphan who came here after writing my way out of a literal shitstorm. I got a scholarship to King’s College and I’m only nineteen, goddamn it! But now I walk through these streets famished, while Britain taxes us relentlessly. They’re never gonna set us free, so I’ll be damned if there isn’t a revolution in this century! I will not throw away my shot—will you?” 

The three men sit in silence, stunned by this outburst. Needless to say, they were impressed. Lafayette broke the unperturbed quiet of the pub. “I dream of life without the monarchy. The unrest in France will lead only to anarchy. I will make the other side panicky with my shot.” 

Mulligan stood up and followed Lafayette’s lead. “I’m just a tailor’s apprentice, and I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis. I know that the revolution is my chance to move up in the world and make a difference, rather than just sewing some pants. I will not throw away my shot.” 

“But we’ll never be truly free,” added Laurens, “Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me. You and I, do or die, just wait ‘til I sally in on a stallion with the first black battalion! I’ll free the slaves with my shot!” 

By this point a few of the patrons had begun leaving the tavern. The patrol of British officers had left during the speech without paying. Their mugs were still half-empty, and their seats still warm. A few other civilians had returned to their drinks. “Geniuses, lower your voices,” said Burr, “If you keep out of trouble, you double your choices. I’m with you all the way, but the situation is fraught. You need to be careful, or else you’re all going to get shot.” 

“Relax, Burr,” assured Hamilton, “Look who we’ve got!” He aggressively pointed to the Frenchman and declared, “Mr. Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot.” He turned to Laurens and gave him a brotherly hug and said, “Laurens I like you a lot!” He returned to the center of the circle, saying “Let’s hatch a plot blacker than the kettle calling the pot! What are the odds the gods put us all in one spot? We’re a bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists, give me your position Burr! Show me where the ammunition is!” The tavern returned to its state of silence. All attention was focused towards Alexander. 

“Oh am I talking too loud?” he practically whispered, “Sometimes I get over excited, shoot off at the mouth. I’ve never had a group of friends before. In fact, you guys are my only friends since I’ve come to New York. I promise that I’ll make y’all proud.” Burr smiled, relieved that Hamilton finally quieted down. The three others stared at Alexander with wide grins. “We gotta get you in front of a crowd,” suggested Laurens. 

“But for now,” suggested Mulligan, five beers in his hands, “how about another drink?” The men accepted the mugs and grew drunk and gay. Their faces blushed, their minds wandered, their heads spun, and they just had a great time. At some late hour, after the tavern had mostly cleared out, Hamilton spoke up. “Gentlemen, I know a drinking song I would love to lead you all in.” He then hiccuped and said, “Follow me through the song.” He hummed, rubbed his throat, and sang, “I may not live to see our glory,”   
“I may not live to see our glory,” the others chimed in, drunkenly.   
“But I will gladly join the fight!” proclaimed Hamilton.   
“But I will gladly join the fight,” the others followed.   
“And when our children tell our story!” sung Hamilton.   
“And when our children tell our story,” sung the others, though rather drunk.   
“They’ll tell the story of tonight,” concluded Hamilton, “Now you all can add anything if you want.”   
Laurens raised his mug and sung, “Raise a glass to freedom! Something they can never take away! No matter what they tell you!” Hamilton continued, “Raise a glass to the four of us, tomorrow there’ll be more of us! Telling the story of tonight!”   
“Let’s have another round tonight,” suggested Mulligan, though he was unable to grab all of the mugs this time. “Raise a glass to freedom!” they all sung in unison. And so they sang into the night, in an empty tavern in New York, in 1776. 

Very late into the night, when the moon was past its highest point, the men finally left the tavern. They had since sobered up a bit, and began to walk home in a group. They started walking to the left, laughing and hollering as they did. Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled Laurens into an alleyway.   
“Laurens?” asked Alexander. But, another set of hands pulled Mulligan into the dark alley by both arms, and soon another pair yanked Lafayette. Burr was grabbed as well, and Hamilton too. The men struggled as the mysterious assailants dragged them further into the dank, musky New York alleyway. The attackers seemed to laugh, their accents rather English. 

Within moments, the five revolutionaries were tied and gagged, their heads resting against a brick wall, the red coats of the assailants barely glowing in the night sky. “What have we got here?” asked one of the British officers, “A couple of Yankees having a bit of a drink?” Laurens struggled to reply, trying to move his gag loose. Another officer squatted down. “Ah, don’t scream, son, else I’ll cut your tongue out.” His voice was a lot hoarser than the first officer’s. He grabbed his knife from its sheath upon his belt and cut the gag. As he did so, the knife nicked John’s cheek, and a dollop of blood began to form along the cut. 

“You can’t just attack us like this! We didn’t break the law!” It may have just been the alcohol, but John’s outburst was rather bold. Hamilton saw this, and felt great affection for the abolitionist.   
“Oh, but I believe you did,” said a third Redcoat, this one with a very high pitched voice. “Public drinking, rowdiness, bestiality, disturbing the peace, and most importantly treason… You’ll be lucky if you ain’t hanged tomorrow!”   
“Why wait?” suggested another Redcoat. His voice was incredibly deep and smooth, like chocolate melted in a Dutch oven. “Let’s say we save King George the time and serve justice while we can!” He pulled out his flintlock and pointed it at Hamilton. “What’s your name, man?” 

But Alexander could not find the words. He struggled to speak, but could not. It was as if a frog were lodged in his throat. Luckily, Lafayette began to struggle. The Redcoat moved the barrel of his pistol to the Frenchman. “What’s this? A volunteer?” Realizing his mistake, Lafayette began shaking his head wildly. “Stop your thrashing!” yelled the Redcoat, and he pulled the trigger. A spark struck the end of the pistol and a cloud of smoke filled the alley. The round bullet traveled through the barrel into Lafayette’s skull, right above his eye. The bullet lodged itself about an inch into his head, and a steady stream of blood ran alongside his nose, over his lip, and onto his coat. His eyes rolled back, and his body slouched. Laurens flinched. 

“You idiot!” screamed another Redcoat, “Now people know we’re here! You bastard! Let’s hurry up and slay the other troublemakers. But, leave one of them to tell the other rowdy ruffians what happens when you mess with King George!”   
A British officer approached Mulligan and slashed him across the face with the end of his bayonet. He slashed again in the opposite direction, forming two streaks of gore in the shape of an X. To finish the job, he sent the bayonet through the forehead. A considerable crunch echoed through the now silent street, followed by a soft squishing oozing from the hole. 

Another officer smacked Laurens in the face with the butt of his musket. The flat piece left a sizable dent in John’s skull, along with a large, violet bruise. The Englishman lifted his musket to the sky and struck again, piercing the already damaged bruise and opening a flood of blood upon the stone streets. Laurens slouched over, face-down onto the ever-growing pool of fluid. 

“Now we’ve got just two Yanks left,” pointed out the first officer, “What ever to do?”   
“Let’s flip a penny o’er them,” suggested the high-pitched officer, “Winner goes free.”   
“I like it,” said the hoarse one, “Heads for the pony-tailed prick, tails for the bald bastard.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, copper coin. He placed it on his thumb and flipped it into the air. It spun as it rose, and then it fell. The officer caught it and placed it on his wrist. “Tails.”   
An officer walked over to Burr and undid the ropes. He removed the gag and pulled the future Vice President up to his feet, but still holding him close. “Now, if I ever see one of you New Yorkers going around inciting all sorts of fighting again, I’m gonna rip off your ears and stitch ‘em to your ass. You hear me?” Burr nodded fearfully. “Now, get outta here!” The officer shoved Burr out of the alleyway. 

Hamilton watched as Aaron Burr ran away. He knew that Burr would not be returning. There would be no help coming for him. He would die, and once he did there would be no beat, no melody. All would come to an end for dear Alexander. And he hated Burr for it. How could his first friend, the man he sought out in New York, the prodigy of Princeton just abandon him like that?! If Hamilton had been in Burr’s shoes, he would’ve fought the British officers single-handedly. 

“Now for you, pretty boy,” an officer said as he walked over to Hamilton, “Where to begin?” The man pulled out his flintlock and fired into the air, away from the alley. He then pressed the hot barrel on Hamilton’s forehead. The metal singed a ring in Hamilton’s skin, branding him with the officer’s gun. As that officer backed off, another ran up and kicked Alexander in the chest, causing Alexander to buckle over. He had not fully sobered, so green bile began to spew from his mouth, though it was blocked by the cloth gag. “You sick, are you? Can’t hold down a couple of beers?” It was the first officer. He kicked Hamilton again. And again. 

With every successive kick, Hamilton hated them more and more. He hated that his friends were dead, he hated that he was sure to die, and he hated that the Englishmen were sure to get away with such torture. The kicks ceased, and another officer walked up, knife in hand. “Now, I said we was going to kill ya, and I ain’t no liar.” He pressed the blade to Hamilton’s neck and started to move it, left to right. A tear started forming along Alexander’s throat. 

It was at that moment Alex swore that if he were to somehow get out of this alive, he would hunt down every Redcoat in the thirteen colonies. He would kill them all and make them pay for what they had done. And, if he was given the chance, he would go to King George himself and shoot the fat fuck straight between the eyes, just like how his soldiers shot Lafayette between the eyes, or how they carved Mulligan around his eyes, or how they bashed Laurens’s skull between the eyes. And he would find Burr and make him know what he has done. He would search every forest and every city in every state until Burr was found and judged for abandoning his friends. Hamilton would have vengeance.   
Hamilton’s pact may just come to fruition. 

A small crowd of townsfolk clad in pajamas started raining down on the alley. They were armed with nothing more than a few candle sticks, their eyes, and the clothes on their backs. They just wanted to know what all the ruckus was about. But the British officers knew that if this many people found them above four slaughtered corpses, accusations would be thrown. “Shit,” muttered one, and the group of them scampered down the alley and off into the night. One lingered, and whispered in Alexander’s ear, “You’re off lucky, little lion. See you later.” And he was off into the darkness. 

A little old man led the group. He approached the alleyway, which at this point stunk of blood and rotting bodies. Hamilton turned to the candle light, and the man was horrified. Alexander was bloodied and bruised, coated in vomit and bound in frayed rope. The old man nearly fainted at such a gory display, and he had yet to see the corpses of Mulligan, Lafayette, and Laurens behind Hamilton. 

But seeing the crowd of candles, Alexander knew he would live to see his glory. He would live to find his vengeance. 

He would not throw away his shot.


End file.
